


The Song of Ice and Fire

by matan4il



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: A Song of Ice and Fire References, Alternate Universe - A Song of Ice and Fire Fusion, Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, Game of Thrones References, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 10:08:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18754279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matan4il/pseuds/matan4il
Summary: “There must always be a Dingle in Wishing Well.”@scrapyardboyfriends, to merge it with Robron, I played fast and loose (or maybe not that fast, but definitely loose) with the universe ofA Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones. Since George R.R. Martin did the same with the definition of ‘a trilogy’, I believe I’m ok. This is not a full blown AU because of the deadline, just a taste of one that I thought you might enjoy.Merry Christmas from your secret santa!





	The Song of Ice and Fire

“There must always be a Dingle in Wishing Well.”

Those were the last words Ser Zak had stressed to him before heading for the south, and they continue to reverberate in Aaron’s mind as he’s making his way between the weirwoods in complete darkness. His uncle had turned southward accompanied by his son, Cain, to face the challenge of the Whites. That family’s wealth and machinations had bought them first the king’s ear and later, as the whispered accusations claimed, his death as well. Ser Zak and Cain did not return. Before they left, his uncle repeated that final reminder. For eons, the Dingles were the Wardens of the North, overseeing it from the castle of Wishing Well. They were pledged not only to defend the North’s territories, but also the collective memories its people swore by. It now fell to Aaron to lead and protect its men. An odd position to suddenly hold, since unlike other rulers in the kingdoms, the Dingles did not raise their children separate from the population they would come to govern. As strange as it was to take this role on, it was the one that Aaron Dingle was born and trained for his whole life. It was the circumstances of how he would step into it that none of them had anticipated.

The weirwoods whisper all around Aaron in the dark of night. He has felt more than once like he was on the brink of understanding what their leaves were rustling about. Even though this gut feeling has never materialised, it gave him a sense of profoundness whenever he walked through the ancient weirwood grove that lay at the heart of the castle grounds. As alert as he must be right now, that sense is still present in him. He continues to make his way among the trees on his own, though he knows the Barton lad, the one that Ser Zak took in as a boy to be his companion, is close on his heels and keeps within earshot. It’s fine, the agreement allowed both sides to bring along up to one servant, as long as those men were kept back. He could afford agreeing to this when he was on his own turf. Aaron is reaching the dark pool next to which the meeting is to take place.

He’s meant to come face to face here with the heir to the House of Sugden, claimant to the throne of the kingdoms. The young man who, so the stories insist, has hatched fire-breathing dragons that can take over the world. If even half of what Aaron’s heard is true, the Sugdens can help him defeat his enemies from the south, as well as the free folk to the north, lurking beyond the great wall. Aaron’s not that sure he does believe the fantastic tales that he’s heard. The meeting place itself is meant to be somewhat of a test. The Sugden heir would have to find his way to the castle in the middle of the night with only one servant as aid, then he’d have to scale the high and impenetrable walls of Wishing Well and next, he would have to navigate without moonlight between the trees that have been growing thick and wild here since the dawn of time. A dragon would be one of the very few ways that this could be done by a complete stranger to these parts.

Aaron didn’t bring a torch with him, to light the path. He knew one won’t be needed for him to find his way around the weirwoods. Besides, he feels comfortable in this darkness. It’s more of an advantage to him than a problem. Now all he needs to do is wait. He hopes it won’t be for long.

A stirring of the leaves nearby is his first indication that he was wrong to assume he’s alone.

“You’ve finally arrived,” he hears the voice before it’s followed by an odd sound and as if out of nowhere, there’s a lit torch held up between him and a young man.

Or rather, Aaron thinks he’s young. In the small circle of light cast by the torch, he finds it hard to decipher whether the deep lines etched in the man’s face are due to age or too many concerns that he’s carried. Not too tall, dark hair, eyes that appear dark as well, but it’s almost impossible to tell if they really are, a mole. There’s no reason to be disappointed by appearances, but for whatever reason, Aaron expected someone more impressive. Maester Kirk had suggested an arranged marriage with the heir of this grand house if all else should fail. Aaron’s first reaction was an angry complete and total rejection of the idea that he’d wed a Sugden, political necessity or not. A few ravens later, carrying bad news from the south beneath their wings, and he acknowledged that he may have to resort to that. If there is no other choice left, then he will, but he would certainly explore every alternative option. Actually facing the heir of that great, and hated, house, the man’s look strikes Aaron as the wrong one to bind himself forever to. It’s proving to be yet one more reason why he hopes to resolve this by other means.

“I see you’ve arrived ahead of time. Not wanting to waste any?” he responds. He wants to be careful, appraise the man standing opposite him.

“Precisely. Shall we discuss our terms for collaboration?”

Blunt. Aaron can appreciate that, but he thinks he picks up on the heir’s voice being a little scared. His gut reaction to that is to dislike that note of fear. If the man is honest about what brought him here, why should he be fearful?

“You’re not going to ask me to bend the knee first?”

The Sugden heir’s face falls, like it strikes him that this is what he was meant to lead with, but then he immediately recovers. “I’m not going to ask, because you will.”

That’s one way to cover your tracks, Aaron supposes. It’s not a very good one, it leaves little room for negotiation. If this is the political prowess the Sugdens can now offer, it may not be that wise for the Dingle House to tie itself to them.

“Will I? Why should I do that? You need me, my Lord,” not Your Highness, “or you wouldn’t be here. Should I ask _you_ to bend the knee, then?”

Anger flashes across the heir’s face.

“It is true what they say about you, then? That you are in open rebellion and have declared yourself King in the North?”

“No, my Lord,” an expression of surprise chases the anger away at that, “my people are the ones who declared it. Should their will not concern me more than yours?”

“Maybe, if you want to live,” the anger’s back, the kind driven by a helplessness at the face of a challenge to one’s authority or status. Not a desirable trait in an ally. Even less so in a husband.

The corners of Aaron’s lips are drawn down of their own accord, unimpressed. “And maybe _you_ want to do something about that hair,” he spits out before he really considers it.

“You dare…!” the man cries out and his hand is suddenly up in the air, mid way to striking Aaron. It’s clad by a gauntlet, it will hurt. It’s meant to, a physical injury in return for an insult. The motion is registered quickly in the mind of a Dingle who was brought up to be a warrior, giving Aaron time to consider his next move. The most natural instinct he has is to reach for the sword in his belt, but he knows that is the wrong response. He can’t afford to pull it out of its sheath, not at this instance. His goal is to reach an alliance, but even if that fails, the last heir of the Sugden dynasty has too many means and his attention should be left to focus on other enemies.

This split second of hesitation, while Aaron is deliberating his preferred course of action, is enough to prevent him from needing to decide. There’s a growl that pierces the night and within that fracture of a second, it’s by his side. He can also hear the sound of running coming from behind him. He doesn’t have to look back to know that the man rushing in is Adam, or to glance to his right to take in the image of his direwolf beside him, Cloud. Big and grey, teeth bared, back arched, he’s a formidable sight and a clear threat. Sugden’s raised hand freezes in its track with terror. From behind the heir, there’s the blurry silhouette of his companion running to them just as swiftly as Adam was. But that is not what Aaron is focused on. The man he was supposed to negotiate with dropped the torch he was holding in his one hand almost as soon as the other one froze for fear of the direwolf. The flame made contact for a moment with his skin before the torch fell to the ground and the dry grass started catching fire. This time, Aaron does draw his sword out and he points it at the man before him.

The man who flinched when his flesh was momentarily burnt.

“Who are you really?” He makes a small gesture at the torch. “Spare me the lies.”

“Stop!” Sugden’s companion shouts out his command as he steps forward. “He’s not the man you want,” he says, his voice calmer once Aaron’s eyes are resting on him, before he takes a few more strides forward. He steps right into the small fire, standing in it with no sign of pain or panic, letting the thigh high flames lap at him. “I am.”

* * *

The fire surrounding his legs and creeping up them is slowly, but surely, beginning to spread. That prompts him to turn to his brother, whose eyes are still fixated on the Wolf Who Rose, as some have already nicknamed the new leader of Dingle family, and the actual direwolf accompanying him. “Andrew, don’t just stand there,” he says, “help me get some water from the pond.”

They have nothing suitable for the task other than the partly empty wineskins they were carrying. They drain those of whatever liquor was there and fill them with pond water. They’re joined by Aaron Dingle and his companion, who have with them waterskins - how sensible and northerner of them - that they pour out over the fire and then refill from the pond, too. It doesn’t take long before their joint efforts put out the flames, much as those fought to outlast them. As he watches the last of the ambers flicker with one final blaze of red before going out, Robert can’t help but feel a tinge of sorrow. Fire cannot kill a dragon like him. If only it didn’t harm others and didn’t have to be extinguished. If only he didn’t have to spend more than half his childhood hiding a part of who he was whenever he had noticed something about him was different to how the other kids were.

“You’re the real son of the king, I take it,” his train of thought is cut off by the man he came here to see. Andrew’s pretense was not just a precaution, in case the Dingles tried anything, but also an opportunity for their new leader to be observed.

Robert grimaces at what too many people thought of the brothers. “We both are. I’m the son who happens to be his by blood,” He looks in the direction of the other two men listening silently. He’s more irritated than he’d like to admit by the whole turn of events straying too far from his plans. His annoyance comes across when he doesn’t mean for it to because next he spits out, “and I don’t negotiate with commoners.”

“Oh? That’s alright then,” the retort comes right away, “negotiate with me.”

There’s a push back in there that Robert likes and it makes something inside him settle down and regain some of his composure. “Then we should find a spot where we can talk on our own.”

He gets a small nod in response and Aaron Dingle, first of his line in centuries to try and reclaim the mantle of King in the North, turns around at once and leads him away from the one man he brought along with him to help with his task. The Dingles are close to nothing when compared with the glory of House Sugden, but there’s something noble, almost royal, in the way this man carries himself that’s hard not to follow and Robert does. He’s not the only one. The direwolf is walking right next to his human, whose hand naturally finds itself buried in the thick fur. It practically drowns in it, a reminder of just how big the direwolf really is. It’s hard to look away from the shape the two of them make together.

“I hope you appreciate that I’m following you alone when you have that beast by your side,” he says after they’re outside the hearing range of anyone else.

“Cloud won’t let me out of his sight now that he’s decided your brother tried to threaten me. If you want us to speak alone, you’ll have to do with his presence. I wouldn’t complain if I were you, not after you were the one who tried to pass for your own servant. Out of the two of us, you’re the one proving to be hard to trust so far.”

“Ouch. Not totally unfair, but still. Ouch.”

“Besides,” Aaron Dingle abruptly halts and turns around to Robert sharply, forcing him to stop dead in his tracks, “you’re not alone and unprotected. You’ve got one of your dragons here, don’t you? Where did you think we were headed? I’d like to see _your_ beast.”

Robert can feel his cheeks burning under what can only be perceived as a piercing gaze. What a strange new sensation. As far back as he can recall, no physical fire has made him feel this way and for some reason, he doesn’t think any ever will. “If this is where you’re headed, don’t. We can discuss our matters anywhere and you…” he can’t explain the sudden worry that takes over him when nothing major happened other than witnessing a complete stranger take a risk, “you shouldn’t trust me to guarantee your safety.”

“And yet,” Aaron breaks their stance and resumes his strides, “you will.”

Where is that confidence coming from? Robert is left wondering even as he’s forced to quickly step in line. He’s aware that most people pale at the thought of being in the presence of a dragon even if their safety is guaranteed, let alone if it isn’t. Especially when they think that they have a reason to doubt his motivations.

“How would you know where I left my dragon?” he tries to distract himself from everything about this that’s been unsettling.

A small, but deliberate pat to Cloud’s back is the only answer he gets.

Robert can pick up on that, even though he isn’t able to see much beyond the play of shadows and silhouettes. The man he’s following started leading the way in pitch dark without allowing either one of them the time to grab a torch and enjoy its guidance after Andrew’s went out. Robert doesn’t doubt that they are in the right direction, though. Soon enough he can hear Victorion’s breathing. If Cloud’s slowly rising growl is anything to go by, he’s not the only one. In fact, the direwolf seems more and more displeased, though he never so much as slows down.

“Stop!” Robert calls out. He may not be able to see much, but he can tell they’re near enough to Victorion. “We’re here.” He steps forward and bypasses the duo of man and direwolf. His step is unsure when he can’t see the ground he’s walking on, but the hand he reaches out to make contact with is steady. “Trust me?” he throws the question to the man behind him and without waiting to get a reply, he commands the smallest of his three dragons at the exact same time as he turns his back to her, “Dracarys!”

A flame splits up the night. Robert’s hand on Victorion’s neck is guiding the fire to be breathed in a direction safe for everyone and for the act to be longer than usual, allowing him to watch the spot where he knew he’ll see Aaron’s face. The dragon’s flame highlights each one of the man’s features. He is quite handsome, which isn’t really what the Sugden heir came to expect based on stories he’s heard from his family about the Dingle lineage. The expression on Aaron’s face changes from one of tension into that of pure wonder and awe. No fear. No repulsion. He’s beautiful in a way Robert isn’t sure he was ready for.

“You can come closer if you want to. You can touch her.” He didn’t plan on inviting the man to do so, but it feels right.

Aaron takes a hesitant step forward and pauses. He’s waiting for Victorion’s reaction. When there is none, he continues until he touches the scaly skin of the dragon. A little laughter comes out of him like a bubble of air rising, seemingly out of nowhere, to break the surface of water. Robert would wage good money that it’s not a sound people hear often. He starts patting Victorion for how good and quiet she’s being and Aaron mimics him almost immediately. Even though hers is not the most pleasant skin for the touch, not even when compared with other dragons, Robert thinks there’s something thrilling about doing this. The tingle of power that runs right underneath one’s fingers when she moves slightly in reaction. As they continue doing this, their hands accidentally brush against each other, warm in contrast with her cold scales.

Aaron steps back. “I think it’s time you told me,” he says slowly, as if he’s not certain himself that he’s ready for what will come, “what it is that you want from me.”

* * *

Aaron looks down at the crowd of soldiers gathered next to the feet of the mountain. From up here on the cliff, they appear more like foam upon the sea than men, giving the impression of rippling waves as they move.

“Do you have to stand so close to the edge? If one of those numbskulls down there spots you, they can and will try to shoot you with an arrow.”

“They can try, they won’t succeed,” he pulls back to a degree all the same.

“They might succeed,” the voice comes closer and he turns to face Robert, who probably climbed up after him to the edge of the cliff in order to pull Aaron back himself if he had to, “and your Dingle audacity doesn’t actually make you immune to arrows.”

This up close, it’s impossible to ignore Robert’s clear eyes and how radiant he seems to be, even a second before the outbreak of a battle. It makes Aaron feel like he has something stuck in his throat, forcing him to attempt swallowing it down. The discomfort throws his mind back to their talk among the weirwoods, when they made their pact to be allies.

What Robert wanted from him, as it turned out, was the fulfillment of a prophecy.

“A prophecy?” Aaron was incredulous. It wasn’t like belief in prophecies throughout the kingdoms was unheard of, but to approach a northman because of one was odd. The northerners were more likely than anyone else in the realm to assume that any rhyme offered up as a prophetic text was either nonsense or an attempt at manipulation. After all, they are already aware of the one indisputable truth regarding the future: the inevitability of winter. They don’t need more than that. To try and woe a northman into an alliance through the idea of prophecy is, at best, as naive as expecting one to aid in such lunacy being fulfilled.

Robert nodded, like he was reading his mind. “I know how your folk think of this, but…” his eyes dropped, lost in memories, “you have to understand. There was a great fire that could have destroyed my family. It would have, if it weren’t for a prophetic dream. And it did consume the majority of my people. I have no choice other than to believe.”

“And you need me to help you make this prophecy come true?”

Robert looked back up at him. “When the darkest shadow of the night is cast, the savior’s arrival will be sure and fast, as long as love can be forged with desire… in a song of ice and fire.”

Aaron shrugged. “I have no idea what those nursery rhymes mean.”

“The night’s shadow… you must have heard some of the same reports I have. From beyond the wall.”

He figured out instantly what was referred to since he had indeed heard a few crazy rumors about a nightmarish threat rising in that vast wasteland. To be on the safe side, he preferred to claim ignorance. “What reports?”

Robert frowned. “The Others. They’re walking this earth again.” Quiet, and he takes a breath before continuing. “Even if you don’t believe in that, I do. My people, we’ve been waiting, knowing that the night will cast its darkest shadow again. Not that we’re sure what the rest of the prophecy means. My maester thinks the heir to my family is the savior and that I’m meant to rescue the kingdoms in one grand, final battle. He thinks this clash will be the song of their ice against our fire.”

“But you don’t agree.”

Aaron was surprised to see a smile at that. “Maester Potts is ignoring the whole part about love and desire, isn’t he? Typical of a maester, I guess. He pushes that aside by saying it’s the abstract love and mutual want between me and the people of the realm that I’m meant to save and rule. Sounds a bit too easy to me.”

It suddenly clicked. “You don’t agree with him and instead, you think I’m the ice and you’re the fire, and that we…?”

Robert shrugged and answered only the first part. “Who better than a Dingle in all of the kingdoms to be the embodiment of ice?”

Aaron snorted. “If you’re right, then we are all done for, aren’t we? There’s no love lost between the two of us or our houses.”

This didn’t faze Robert as he chuckled in response. “You mean you haven’t fallen madly in love with me in the ten minutes we’ve been talking? I’m shocked.”

“Yeah, you’re trying to play it off like you didn’t expect a scenario of that sort, but we _have_ heard of you here.” Even in a realm where royalties were known for their sexual proclivities, Robert was notorious. 

“What, my reputation precedes me?” There was too much satisfaction in his voice for Aaron’s liking. “And now you don’t even want to give me a chance as a suitor. That’s alright, I didn’t expect you would. But at the very least you can trust that I am offering you my full faith in this prophecy as a guarantee that I won’t betray you. You may not think it’s true, but I do and that means that I will never be a danger to you or yours. It means, I’ll protect you. I’ll give you my dragons and men to command for whatever purpose you have in mind in the south, for as long as it takes you to trust my words and accept our marriage.”

Aaron shook his head in disbelief and dismay. The Sugden heir was offering him all that he was set on getting from their alliance without a nuptial contract being promised, not just yet. That was too good to be true. But he may try to enforce that marriage later down the line. “Even if I accept that you really believe in this, what will happen if I never agree to wed you?”

“Well,” there was the ghost of warm breath that fleeted across Aaron’s face when Robert leaned in closer, his wide grin evident even in the dark, “I won’t force you to agree, not now and not ever. Because that’s my challenge, isn’t it? To make you love me and want to marry me… in addition to how much you already wish to bed me.”

“I… what?” Aaron was far too astonished to phrase his question better.

“No need to pretend, I can read the signs. I have to be very good at that, because… Well, you did hear about my reputation, right?”

Aaron still wants to punch Robert whenever he thinks of the smirk with which he said that. Even the enemy soldiers gathering below them, their service paid for by the Whites and their greed for power, can’t distract him from that urge. It’s a desire only partly motivated by those words holding some truth to them. There is an undercurrent of want he feels whenever he looks at the true Sugden heir. Unlike Andrew, there is beauty and charm to Robert that are hard to ignore. Even the notion of going through with the marriage doesn’t seem as wrong when it comes to him. But not like this, not when Aaron is in a way still being forced to make this choice. After all, he is the very essence of the people he grew up with and was meant to rule, proud and unwilling to easily give up any freedoms. And Robert played his hand wrong, having given up all of his cards without demanding any commitments in exchange. He saved the North from an impossible situation while still intending to force his vision of their future on Aaron. The mere thought is enough to cool down any romantic feelings that might have otherwise evolved. No, whatever the song of ice and fire is, it will have to be played without the Dingle line thrown into it.

The plan for the battle against the soldiers hired by the Whites is simple and the first stage of it will now be implemented. Most of the northerners and the Sugden soldiers are gathered at the foot of the mountain as well. The two armies are about to clash with Andrew serving as their side’s highest ranking fighter on the battlefield and Adam present as Aaron’s right hand man. He has Cloud by his side, growling and ready to pounce at the enemy’s throats. The sun hits its spot in the sky that they agreed on and the order is given. The men from both sides charge at each other.

“Ready?” Robert asks, his one leg already leaning against scaly skin, his hand stretched out to offer help in mounting the dragon.

Aaron looks up at the pair of eyes shining back at him and takes in the lack of any doubts or reservations, despite how much this may end up costing. “Hells, yes,” he replies, without being sure which question he’s really answering.

They climb Victorion together, about to unleash the second stage and descend on the White soldiers from the sky.


End file.
